by Abigail Kade
I told him an abridged version of our history, ending with everything we’d been through tonight. As my story progressed, Mr. Parsons lost his smile and frown lines grew in between his brows. When I finally finished, he was downright scary.
“Do you mean to tell me, you kids have been on your own for weeks? You’ve been starving, living in a drug den, fighting off dirty cops and pimps?” He took a sip of his sweet tea, and I could see his hands were shaking. “Well, that shit ends now. I’m calling James and getting you squared away tonight.” He pulled out his phone and dialed quickly. Obviously, he did know our uncle if he had the number memorized. “James, hey, where are you? You’re not driving, are you?” He listened for a second, then, “Good, I need to tell you something, but you need to sit down. No, I’m not bullshitting you, just do it, asshole!” He laughed at whatever was said, then he seemed to sober when he said softly, “James, I found them.”
Everything went silent for a second, and then I heard yelling from the other end of the line. “Yes, I’m sure, and no, this isn’t a joke. I’m looking right at them, James, and you couldn’t deny them if you wanted to. They all look just like you and John.” He listened for another second, then, “James, listen, they need you, man. They’ve been on their own for weeks, and they’re a heartbeat away from being homeless.” He listened for a second, then handed the phone to me. “He wants to talk to you,” he said, handing the phone over.
“Hello?” I whispered. I had no idea what to expect from this conversation.
“Ladd, is that you?” The voice sounded deep and soft, gentle even. He was trying to make me comfortable and not scare me. I liked that voice.
“Yes, sir, this is Ladd.”
I heard a soft sob on the other end of the line, then a sniff, “Oh, thank you, God! Ladd, this is your uncle, James, your dad was my older brother, John. I’ve been looking for you for years, son. I never gave up and never lost hope that I would find you again. Patrick tells me you need a place to stay.”
“Yes, sir, we, uh, we’ve had it a bit rough lately.”
“Well, I’m only three hours away. I promise you’ll never have to worry about another thing, my boy. I’m leaving in a few minutes to come and get you. I’m bringing you boys home.”
Chapter One
“Goddammit, Parker, I said No.” I yelled as I pushed my latest mistake’s head away from my neck. The jerk had been after me for months to go out with him, and I had finally relented a week ago. He was a well-to-do lawyer in the town of Fairpoint and came from a well-respected family according to my aunt, Helen. It was a perfect match on paper, since my pedigree was pretty impressive, too. On paper anyway. Most of the people in town knew nothing of my background or my childhood. They only knew that the children of John Eldridge had come to live with their uncle, James, after the tragic demise of their mother ten years ago. Never assuming that any children from such a prestigious family would have ever known any hardship. If they only fucking knew.
But they didn’t know, and now after one week of dating and one night of less than spectacular sex, Mr. Do You Know Who I Am was going for round two, and I was ready to call it quits. “Parker, I swear to God, you need to get out of my house right now. I told you I’m gonna be late for work.” When he still wouldn’t take the hint but just smirked and moved back into my space, I lost it. “You know what? I’m done. You’re not getting anywhere near me or my ass ever again. Now, get the fuck out of my house and lose my number, asshole.”
“Come on, Ladd, babe. You know you can’t say no to me. You know who my family is in this town. Both of our families expect us to be together. The Radcliffs have been in this town almost as long as the Eldridges. You might not know this as you haven’t always been part of the family, but all of the original families stick together around here. Otherwise, all of these artsy riff-raffs would eventually take over the town our great-grandparents worked so hard to build.”
The unmitigated douchebaggery of this asshole was hitting an all-time high on my douche meter, and I wondered how I could have ever let this guy’s decidedly below average penis anywhere near me. I was utterly speechless at his snobbery, not to mention his dig at my background. But then he had to go and open his mouth one time too many with, “And just so you know, you will be continuing with this relationship. We’re also going to be taking it to its obvious conclusion. My parents are thrilled that we’ll finally be joining our family with yours, even if it is with you instead of Rhett. Rhett’s law firm is highly respected and would be a better match, but they’ll accept an architect. After we finalize everything, you can lay off the interior design work and leave that for your aunt. Even if we are queer, we don’t have to live a stereotype.” He all but sneered those last words. “And we’ll keep your weird bedroom needs a secret at all costs. I’ll push you around all you want, but you better not ever tell anyone. No one needs to know you’re a freak in the bedroom on top of everything else.”
That’s it!
My inner redhead was unleashed at that moment and, with no warning, I drew my fist back and hit him as hard as I could. Parker was several inches taller than my five-foot-six-inches, so I had to reach a bit, but I made sure to make the swing count. I didn’t even plan to break anything, but I actually smiled when I heard him scream and grab his nose to contain the instantaneous flow of blood, the same blood that would ruin his custom shirt. Bonus. Blood stains were a bitch to get out. I may have actually said that out loud before Parker let loose, “What the fuck? You’re going to pay for that you good for nothing freak poser.”
He marched toward the front door, then tried to open it, but his hand was covered in blood and kept spinning on the knob. I graciously opened it for him and swept my hand toward the doorway to usher him through so he could finally get the fuck out of my house. However, he wasn’t through slinging insults apparently. “I should never have lowered myself to even go out with you, but my parents insisted.” He stepped out onto the porch, then turned around for his parting shot. “I’m out of here, but this isn’t over, you redneck twink piece of trash! I don’t care what your last name is. You’ll never belong! You better watch your back from now on, because I’m never going to rest until you’ve gotten what’s coming to you.” With that, he finally stomped down the steps to his Range Rover and left in a cloud of indignation. My last thought before closing the door was it’s a good thing he’s got leather seats. That got me snickering, and then I thought about the shocked look on his face when I clocked him.
He never saw me as a threat. Serves him right.
Didn’t he know that redneck trash always knew how to throw a punch?
Pretentious asshole.
“Penny, why is it so hard to find a decent guy these days?” I asked aloud to my huge lump of a cat perched on the back of my sofa. She’d never moved throughout the entire altercation but now raised her wide fluffy face at the sound of her name. When I didn’t continue with the words treat or din-din, she promptly went back to studying the back of her eyelids and left me to deal with my existential thoughts alone. Fucking feline. She was lucky I loved her furry ass.
I looked around the living room and noticed blood droplets on the wood floor and the door handle, so I got out my cleaning supplies and got busy. I had a few minutes before I had to get dressed for work, and I would never leave stains on my floor. As I scrubbed, I realized that even though I was getting better, cleanliness and order were still my defaults. Everything around me had to be a certain way and always had to be spotless. I had actually relaxed a little in the last year or two. When I finished the floor and the doorknob and put away the cleanser, I noticed my coffee cup in the sink and went to wash it. I stopped myself and started twisting my ring on my right ring finger to steady my thoughts. After a few turns, I decided I could leave my coffee cup in the sink until tonight without a panic attack.
I went into my bedroom and stripped and remade the bed in record time, but I was going to be late if I didn’t hurry, so I told myself to just lea
ve the blanket on the bed without folding it. Honestly, I was still as anal as ever, but I was forcing myself to push through some of my quirks. I wanted someone in my life. But finding someone who understood my needs and being okay with them was almost impossible—this morning being a prime example. Trying over and over again was so hard, but if I never tried…
On my way out, I eyed the coffee cup in the sink before twisting my ring one more time and finally let it go. I wanted to go by our new project building this morning on the way into the office to take one more look before we finalized our presentation and I needed to get a move on if I didn’t want to be late. As I drove down the quiet streets of downtown Fairpoint, Alabama, I realized for the thousandth time how lucky my brothers and I had been ten years ago to be brought to this amazing town. The neighborhoods were all mostly older homes—classic creoles and southern craftsman—with huge old growth oaks and magnolias. The limbs were draped with Spanish moss softening the sweeping branches and welcoming visitors to sit awhile in their shade.
The community was distinctly Southern, sidled right up to the shores of the Bay, and boasted an eclectic arts community that attracted a diverse group of people. They usually came to visit the galleries and enjoy the climate, but they almost always moved here for the accepting, bohemian community and the lower cost of living. Thanks to these artists, writers, and lovers of all things unique, Fairpoint had become an oasis of tolerance deep in the Bible Belt of the South. I loved this place, the people, and the history.
In fact, I was currently in front of one of my favorite places in town. The Old Mason building had been vacant for years, caught up in a bankruptcy when the company renovating the building into apartments went belly up during the last recession. The case had gone on forever, and the building sat empty and languished for years. That is, until an out-of-town company, Douglas and McDaniel, LLC had bought it a few months prior.
This building had been one of the first things I loved about my new home. With its Neoclassical Architecture, wrought iron balconies and ivy-covered brick, it looked like it could have been picked up out of the French Quarter of New Orleans and plopped down in Coastal Alabama. It was love at first sight when I arrived, and my love had been fostered by my great aunt, Helen, who had already made a name for herself as an architect and interior designer. When she saw my love for the historic buildings in town and my interest in preservation efforts throughout my high school years, she encouraged me to get my degree in Architecture and promised I would have a place in her firm when I graduated. That all brought me to this moment. If all went as planned, I would finally be able to renovate this fabulous building and bring it back to its former glory.
But right now, I had to get to work, or my boss, Aunt or not, would kick my ass. I hustled back to my car and finally got in the door of Going Coastal Designs right at nine twenty eight a.m. Only twenty-eight minutes late today, not bad given the circumstances of the morning. I twisted the ring on my right hand around and around counting the turns backward from twenty-five like my therapist had suggested. Being late used to be a bigger trigger for me. I used to suffer major anxiety because of it. I had wanted every part of my life to be perfect, but I’d learned and finally understood that some things were beyond my control. I began counting and using the ring a few years ago when Uncle James had given it to me for Christmas. The process of rhythmic counting and turning calmed my mind and helped me remember all the progress I’d made in my life. Even if my love life was a disaster, I needed to remember I did have family, friends and so many other things that were important and special.
Like I knew she would, Aunt Helen gave me a look from behind her desk and pointed at the clock, raising her eyebrows. She didn’t have to say anything, and neither did I. It was a running thing with us. I said a quick hello to Avery, my aunt’s sweet-natured assistant, making sure to ask how she was feeling and how many weeks she had left before her little one made an appearance. Then I finally made my way to my office. I had a meeting at nine thirty with my design partner Taylor and he was always on time, the bastard.
Taylor was as much a partner in the business as I was, but I looked up to him because he had years more experience. I pulled my messenger bag off my shoulder and began straightening everything on my desk as I thought about how lucky I was my aunt had decided to hire Taylor. He was thirty-one and had owned his own interior design firm in Tampa with his ex-wife, but the partnership had been dissolved when they divorced.
When Taylor announced his divorce, his parents had been disturbingly thrilled. They were ready with several names of available girls they wanted him to meet. But when he dropped the bombshell and came out to them, surprisingly with the full support of his soon to be ex, his deeply religious parents hit a wall they were not willing to get past. They cut all ties to Taylor and told him they would pray for his soul. Taylor joked about it, but I knew it had hit him hard. The only good thing out of the whole catastrophe was that he was still good friends with Callie, his ex, and her new husband. Family really was what you made it these days.
When Taylor had needed a fresh start, we were lucky enough to have an opening. We had gotten along right away, as opposite as we were. And after helping each other the last two and a half years with everything from business to personal crises, Taylor was as much my family as Rhett and Remy. He understood me and accepted me as I was, just as I did for him.
“Earth to, Ladd. Where’d you go, man? You’re a thousand miles away.”
Speak of the devil.
“Jesus, why do you always sneak up on me? I swear you’re part Seminole sneaking up on me with your ninja Native American stalking skills.”
Taylor came into my office and sank his considerable height down into one of the chairs facing my desk. “Ninjas and Seminoles, Ladd? Really?” He seemed to think it over for a second, then nodded, “Huh, I could totally rock that look, actually, but you’re stuck with the caramel goodness you see before you.” He pretended to push his dreads back and rolled his shoulders in a sexy little shimmy. “But enough about my fabulous genetics. What had you so deep in thought?” He clapped his hands together, then pointed them both at me with a mischievous grin, “Must have been thinking about that man candy Parker, right? Mmm Mmm, that man is some kind of fine.” Taylor leaned his right elbow over onto my desk and placed his chin in the cup of his hand. He got a dreamy look on his face and licked his pillowed lips, “Good Lord, the abs alone on that man are something else.” He cut his eyes over to meet mine, “Please tell me you licked those abs last night, or did you lick anything else more interesting?” He wiggled his eyebrows with a laugh.
I sat down in my desk chair and dashed Taylor’s hopes. “Sorry, babe, but there was absolutely no licking last night. And there won’t be anything at all happening between Parker and me ever again.”
Taylor tilted his head to the side in silent question, “What do you mean? You broke up with him?” I nodded, and he squinched his eyebrows together in a frown, “But why? He’s gorgeous and rich and…”
“And a total privileged asshole who won’t take no for an answer.” I suddenly blushed all the way to my ears, ducked my head slightly and just for good measure I added, “And there’s the whole issue of him possibly pressing assault charges against me for breaking his nose this morning.” I took a peek through my lashes to see his reaction.
Taylor’s head snapped up from his hand, and his eyebrows hit his hairline. “You what?”
I jumped up and closed my office door before turning to him with my hands out, “Jesus, keep it down, I don’t want Aunt Helen to find out yet. She’s the one that set us up in the first place. She’s friends with his mother or something. I just don’t want to cause any waves.”
“Well, alrighty then.” Taylor reached down into a bag I hadn’t noticed him bring in and pulled out my idea of nirvana. “Then, I guess it’s lucky I brought you more of these babies today.” He held up the bag of jelly beans, and I grinned like a loon. I loved my friend so hard. Taylor pr
oceeded to open the gigantic bag and dumped them into the bowl I kept on my desk for just that purpose. Without thinking, he then meticulously reached in and started removing every black one, placing them in a separate bowl to take back to his desk. Yes, I was anal, and Taylor got me perfectly. If only he were more my type, or I was more his type, we’d be perfect together. I heaved a sigh at the unfairness.
Oh, well, at least he sorts my jelly beans for me.
I reached into the bowl and reveled in the flavor of fake cherry and whatever flavor the white ones were supposed to be. I had never actually figured it out but didn’t really care. My first-grade teacher had always had jelly beans on her desk and gave them out whenever we got an answer right or did a good job on a test. She was always so nice and kind to me at that tender age when I needed the love and encouragement I never got at home. I worked extra hard every day to earn her approval and a jelly bean. My work ethic was ingrained in me that year, along with my lifelong love of these small fruit flavored candies. Jelly beans, to me, would always represent happiness. “You know I would totally sleep with you for bringing these to me, don’t you?”
Taylor halted his sorting and gave me the evil eye, “Eww, Ladd, don’t talk like that.” He leveled a glare at me, pointed his finger in my face and said solemnly, “You are no man’s jelly bean whore.” And with that bit of wisdom, he finished his task and swaggered back to his desk.
I once again went back to my morning ritual of making sure everything on my desk was where it should be for the day to come. The stapler and tape dispenser parallel to the desk sides, pens and pencils in separate but matching containers, computer cords not kinked and neatly bundled. Any of these things could ruin my concentration if they were out of order. After fifteen minutes of arranging my space for the day, Taylor came back from depositing his stash of licorice horrors onto his desk and handed me my cup filled with my vanilla mocha from the break room. He then sat down at the table I had in the corner of my office and began spreading out the blueprints we needed to go over this morning for the Mason building project. It didn’t seem like he was ready to let the Parker situation go just yet, however.
